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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25113781">People Who Say Things That Sound Deep With a Serious Face Are Covering for the Fact That They Know Nothing at All</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Official_Biscuit_Moron/pseuds/Official_Biscuit_Moron'>Official_Biscuit_Moron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gintama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, F/F, Gen, Hinted Sacchan/Tsukki, Nightmares, Sacchan being an assassin, assassination of an unnamed fella, sacchan being a dramatic ninja queen, sachitsukki, the tsukkisachi is not explicitly stated but it is heavily implied so i'm tagging it, tsukkisachi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:07:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25113781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Official_Biscuit_Moron/pseuds/Official_Biscuit_Moron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a regular job. A job just like any other job she might’ve taken. She’d had two like it, very recently.</p><p>Sacchan walks on the roofs today, instead of the street. She feels unstable. She feels like she’s walked into her tiny apartment and everything is exactly where she left it, but someone else’s shoes are on her feet, someone else’s keys are in her pocket.</p><p>/ / /</p><p>Aka Sacchan and Gintoki being friends who are there for each other when the going gets rough.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sakata Gintoki &amp; Sarutobi Ayame, Sarutobi Ayame/Tsukuyo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>People Who Say Things That Sound Deep With a Serious Face Are Covering for the Fact That They Know Nothing at All</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope this isn't OOC!! I wanted to explore Sacchan's assassin jobs and how she might feel about them sometimes, as well as her and Gintoki's friendship, which is Important and Valuable and Must Be Discussed.</p><p>- warnings for blood &amp; a vague, non-explicit internal monologue about sex/romance</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, when he wakes in the middle of the night, chest heaving, heart pounding out of his ribs, she’ll swing down from the ceiling, long hair just barely grazing the floor. She’ll crouch next to his futon, a respectable distance away, and draw lazy patterns on the ground with her long fingers. The wood is old and worn beneath her hand.</p><p>Eventually, the adrenaline will drain from him, slowly, bit by bit as she recounts, in a whisper, her latest exploits with the Courtesan of Death, that blond, beautiful woman, voice turning judgmental and ever-so-fond, eyes scrunching up in expressive distaste behind her glasses. His eyes, invisible in the darkness, track her fingers as they swirl and swirl over the floorboards.</p><p>It’s an immeasurable amount of time later that he relaxes enough to fall into a doze; the sound of her changeable, scratchy alto replacing the wailing in his head, the soft swish of her hair against the floor folding over the dead silence of a grassy cliff. As his breaths quiet to a sleepy, steady rhythm, so does her voice, until she eventually stops talking altogether. Her gaze strays to him. Her hands lift lightly from the floor. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.</p><p>Her voice is achingly gentle when she says,</p><p>“Good night, Gin-san.”</p><p>His soft inhales and exhales continue. She sighs and rolls her eyes. Is about to stand up, but hesitates.</p><p>“I’ll see you.” she murmurs. “Tomorrow. You better be here, Gin-san. I’ll never forgive you if you’re not.”</p><p>She bends down and quietly, quietly, presses a kiss to his cheek. Lingers for a moment, then stands all the way up; is hoisting herself out of the window when she hears,</p><p>“It’s a promise.”</p><p>She nods, though his back is to her, and throws herself into the night.</p><p>/ / /</p><p>It had been a regular job. A job just like any other job she might’ve taken. She’d had two like it, very recently.</p><p>Sacchan walks on the roofs today, instead of the street. She feels unstable. She feels like she’s walked into her tiny apartment and everything is exactly where she left it, but someone else’s shoes are on her feet, someone else’s keys are in her pocket. Her payment weighs heavily on her, where she’s tucked it into her shirt, presses coldly to her skin even through several layers of cloth.</p><p>Crawling through the vents, peering down into her target’s bedroom hadn’t felt strange or uneasy. She’d had two <em>just</em> like this, spaced out inconspicuously over the past few weeks. Dropping soundlessly to the floor, pulling out her kunai, stepping lightly to stand over the man, she hadn’t felt anything off. Her face was expressionless, as usual, her heart closed and sealed, water-tight, to protect it from damage.</p><p>She isn’t sure where exactly she’s going. Her foot wobbles a little on the old shingles, and she considers for a moment the weightlessness of falling.</p><p>She took another step toward the man, snoring in his bed. He deserved this, she knew. But.. But does anyone <em>really </em>deserve this? She- No. No, she can't think like that. </p><p>Sacchan tips a little to the side, the clear Edo sky boundless around her, a faint wind chasing her hair across her face. She gathers herself together, closes her eyes and takes another step forward. Zenzou’s place might be in this direction. She’s been visiting him, pretty regularly. Just to harass him, be an unwelcome pain in his already pained ass. She’d never admit it, but it’s.. nice. To see him. Sometimes, at least. He’s a huge, fussy pain, but then again, so is she.</p><p>..More recently, she’s even been making the effort to go all the way down to Yoshiwara - just to make sure that stupid, thuggish woman isn’t stealing Gin-san’s heart, while she isn’t looking. What a tricky, tricky woman, that Tsukki is. But she’s got her figured out. If Sarutobi’s talking to her, walking with her, staying by her, she can’t be stealing Gin-san’s heart. If Sarutobi wants to be with her more often than not, it’s so she can make sure Tsukki isn’t sneaking off and fucking him senseless.</p><p>Slitting his throat was easy. It was lightning-quick, painless.</p><p>Tsukki doesn’t seem like the senseless type, though. That’s more Sarutobi. She takes another step forward, leaps to a different roof, eyes wandering aimlessly - they’re open now, encompassed in the boundless Edo sky. Tsukki seems like the kind of person who’d want to do it like she loved you.</p><p>A small, gurgling noise emitted from his throat. Probably him choking on his own blood.</p><p>While she looked at you, and you looked at her, and you both thought about how much you liked being with each other.</p><p>He doesn’t even know it’s happening, Sacchan reminded herself, he’s still asleep. And he won’t wake up.</p><p>Has Tsukki ever even done it before?</p><p>Tucking the kunai back into its discreet hiding spot, Sacchan turned to leave the way she came. She’d have to erase her tracks, after all. It wouldn’t do to let people know she’d been here.</p><p>Has Tsukki ever loved someone like that?</p><p>Sacchan noticed a drop of blood, on her sleeve, as she reached up to pull herself into the vent.</p><p>Has Tsukki ever fallen in love?</p><p>Her eyes followed the drop, to where it became two, to where it became three, to where it became blood, sticky, dark, dripping, all over her hands, covering them, coating them with red red red red-</p><p>All of a sudden, she’s on the Yorozuya’s roof. It’s nighttime, now. Clinging to the edge of the roof is easy; so is sliding open Gintoki’s window, slipping into his room. It’s too dark to see anything, so she just holds on as tight as she can, relying on past experience to get in safely.</p><p>He’s awake, too, sitting up in bed. Her faint shadow falls over him, obscuring his features.</p><p>“Yo,” he says, keeping his voice low and quiet.</p><p>Sarutobi doesn’t say anything, just stands over him, looking at the floor. He sighs, soft, and lays down on his futon, leaving the covers piled up clumsily at the end of it. They’ve fallen there, as though he threw them off during the night; his silence is pointed.</p><p>Her hands shake, as she lifts them from her sides, looks at them; they, too, are obscured in shadow.</p><p>Gintoki’s voice emerges from the darkness, muffled in his pillow and rough. He says, “Just sit down, Sacchan.”</p><p>Sacchan tucks her hands under her arms and sinks to the floor – Gintoki’s back shifts, as he uncurls from himself a little bit – then scoots over to sit next to him on the futon. She pulls her knees to her chest and wobbles a little. She tips to the side, the darkness boundless around her, her hair draping over her shoulder in a silky sheet, weightless, falling. She closes her eyes, but all she feels upon hitting the ground is Gintoki’s mattress.</p><p>There’s a soft rustle as Gintoki turns over to look at her. She opens her eyes, focuses them on the ceiling.</p><p>“Is it a job?” he asks quietly.</p><p>“I don’t know. It shouldn’t be,” she murmurs.</p><p>He’s silent, for several moments, then asks, “Is it her?”</p><p>“Why would it be her? I don’t care about her.”</p><p>“..I never said who it was.”</p><p>“I didn’t either.”</p><p>Sarutobi still hasn’t looked at him. She curls further into herself, cheek squished against the futon, glasses askew and digging into the side of her face. Everything here smells like Gintoki. It settles her frightening, fragile heart, a little bit, lends a comforting weight to her hollow bones.</p><p>“Gin-san,” she says, voice nearly inaudible, so far from her usual, erratic, bold shout, “Do you.. ever feel like. Maybe your hands won’t ever come unstained?”</p><p>He’s quiet.</p><p>“Like if you- if you <em>touch </em>someone, if you- if you <em>hold</em> someone, you’ll just leave fingerprints all over them? All over everything you touch?”</p><p>He’s quiet.</p><p>“I think my hands are red, Gin-san. I think yours are too. But it’s dried, on yours. Faded so much it’s hardly there.”</p><p>“Sa-”</p><p>“I killed a man, the other day,” she says, fast, monotone. “He was a horrible man. I slit his throat and he died. I did it for money. He’s dead now - his blood got on my hands. His blood is on my hands.”</p><p>“Sacchan.”</p><p>She finally turns over to look at him. He carefully, slowly, places a hand to the side of her face, brushes it gently, then reaches down and takes her hands into his own. She stiffens.</p><p>“To me,” he tells her, deliberately inspecting them, “They don’t seem all that red.”</p><p>He brings their joined hands up to her eye level.</p><p>“Take another look?”</p><p>It’s stupid, but she does.</p><p>“What I think,” he whispers, breath ghosting over her fingers, “Is that blood dries up. It crumbles away. It fades. You said it yourself. You said the red’s faded, on mine. So, if it can come off my hands, why can’t it come off yours?”</p><p>The moonlight shines dimly over them, illuminating things slightly. She can’t tell the difference between her fingers and Gintoki’s.</p><p>“You’re the clingiest damn person I know, but I don’t see handprints all over my clothes. Over Kagura’s, or Tae’s. Over Sho-chan’s, or Kyubei’s, or Zenzou’s. I don’t see any handprints,” he says knowingly, giving her some kinda look that sits heavy in her heart, “on Tsukki’s kimono. She’d slap you, if there were. It’s Bitch brand. But there aren’t any. Just like there isn’t any stain,” Gintoki removes one of his hands from hers and shows it to her, his skin one smooth, even color in the moonlight, “On my hands, after I touch you.”</p><p>She looks at Gintoki’s irises, at the deep, rusty red, there, and thinks it somehow feels softer, feels duller than the red of blood. Than the red of that man’s blood. Gintoki’s eyes crinkle a little bit when he smiles.</p><p>She sniffs haughtily, and it comes out a little snottier than she wanted it to.</p><p>“You,” she mutters, “Are a foolish man, Gintoki. Saying all those corny things, acting so serious. Turns a woman right off, you know.”</p><p>“Good,” he says seriously, squeezing her hands once more in his before releasing them. He leans over and drops a quick, soft kiss on her forehead. She feels the corners of her mouth turn up, against her will, and presses a hand lightly to his chest before moving to stand up.</p><p>“You gonna go feel up that mysterious, unnamed woman?”</p><p>She scoffs, stepping delicately over to the window. “In your dreams, Gin-san.”</p><p>He pulls the covers up from the end of the futon and over himself, turning his back to her. “More like in yours.”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” she says, smirking, and throws herself into the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey if this sucks please let me know, i appreciate any and all constructive criticism. this is the first work i've ever posted anywhere, i hope it's at least a little bit good! </p><p>thank you so much for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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